


Changing Tactics

by gryfndor_godess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Demon Dean Winchester, Destiel - Freeform, Dubcon Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, SPN Post-S9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2256897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryfndor_godess/pseuds/gryfndor_godess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's eyes are black, and they won't change back.  Cas just wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changing Tactics

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this fic ignores all S10 spoilers!

Day nineteen of being a demon.  Cue freak-out not-even-remotely-in-the-ballpark-of-nineteen-anymore.

“Sam!”

They won’t change back.

“ _Sam_!”

No matter how many deep breaths he takes _(twenty-one; twenty-two; twenty-three)_ or skin mags he tries to distract himself with or Hail Marys he garbles out.  He doesn’t need to tear apart Sam’s room to find the cheap hand mirror he uses for shaving _(the one he bought after Dean smashed every other mirror in the bunker)_ ; he can see his evilness just fine in the back of the kitchen spoon he pocketed when Sam’s back was turned.

And he can feel it.

His arm is pulsing; the Blade is calling. They need to change back because otherwise he is going to _kill_ Dr. Sexy because this is _all his fault_ -

“ _Sammy_!”

If they just change back he’ll be able to calm down. If he looks less like a monster he won’t need to be one.  He’ll be able to control himself.  Understand why he shouldn’t just give into the Blade.  And Sam can help him, Sam can calm down before it’s too late, Sam can help him remember how to be _Dean_ , he’s the only one-

“ _Sam_ -”

But it turns into a sob as he reaches the kitchen because it’s no good, he knows that, he’s been through the whole bunker now and Sam’s not here, he’s still at the store, he didn’t magically sneak back in while Dean wasn’t paying attention.  He’s known it all along and the Mark knows it, too, because now his arm is stinging-

He could be in Hollywood in two seconds. He’s tried to use his teleportation powers as little as all the rest, but it can’t be hard, not for him, not for a _Knight_.  It’ll just take the blink of an eye, and then it’ll just be a matter of torturing execs until he finds one willing to give him Sexy, and then he’ll torture _him_ until he breaks- it won’t take long at all, those silver-spoon-fed Hollywood douches won’t last a _minute_ under his knife _(he’ll need to grab something smaller than the Blade, something with more precision)_.  He can probably be back before Sam even gets home-

He calls Sam and prays he’ll pick up, even though nobody listens to monsters’ prayers.

_“This is Sam. Leave a message.”_

Reception’s always been a little spotty in Lebanon. He can probably get that fixed if he slaughters enough telephone execs.

Fuck, _no_ -

He hurls the phone against the kitchen wall. The plastic casing cracks off; metal guts litter the floor.  It’s okay; they’ll just buy a new one.  Number four.  A little burner with no camera for him to smash when it shows him what he really is.

His whole body is vibrating.  He can’t seem to uncurl his lip.  He must look like he’s baring his teeth. He probably looks like a feral animal.

He checks in the spoon and then bends it in half.

He can’t do this without Sam.

He has to do this without Sam.  He can’t do anything that will make Sam hate him.

Think _(thinkthinkthink)_. What would Sam say?

His arm throbs.

He goes to the freezer and holds the entire ice cube tray against his forearm.  His evilness is more than skin-deep, he knows that, but maybe he can pretend the burning is just from the ice.  That’s what Sam would say.  And he’d say to shoot something to release the tension _(Not a person, Dean_.  _Not a person!)_.

Leaving the tray on the counter, he gets his Glock from his room _(it’s all he needs; he doesn’t need to track down the Blade wherever Sam’s stashed it this time, even though it would be_ so easy _)_ and goes outside. Plenty of trees here to shoot. No people to tempt him.

He fires off half a dozen rounds, three imaginary headshots and three at chest height.

He doesn’t need a knife to go to Hollywood. A shattered kneecap will get him what he wants just as easily.

_Fuck fuck fuck-_

“ _Sam_!”

“Dean?”

He whirls.  But it’s not Sam behind him.

It’s Cas.

The bottom drops out of his stomach, followed by a burning sensation that has nothing to do with the Mark.

He spins back around, but it’s too late; Cas saw.

“You’re not supposed to be here!”  It comes out harsher than he intends _(or does it?  It’s so hard to tell what he intends and what he doesn’t)_ , and for a moment, there’s only silence behind him.  He wants to believe that Cas has vanished, departed without a sound like in the good old days _(“We need to put a friggin bell on him”)_.  But Cas can’t do that anymore _(Dean can; he could pop to LA, and Cas couldn’t stop him)_ , not if he wants to conserve his stolen Grace, and Hannah or whichever angel dropped him off this time would have left already _(they don’t linger in his presence, the angels; it’s just as well- the Blade doesn’t like them either)_.

Instead, Cas circles around Dean, his steps solid and crunchy on the gravel, until they’re again face-to-face. Dean ducks his, even though it makes no difference. 

“Are you,” Cas begins, but he trails off. “What’s…” 

Even avoiding his gaze, Dean can see Cas’s struggle to find the right words, the twisting, downward angle of his mouth. How human it is for him to not know what to say.  And how not-human for him to realize that all the clichés are meaningless _(No, I’m not okay.  What the fuck do you think is wrong)_.

“How can I help?” he finally says.

For just a second, there’s a lurching feeling in Dean’s chest.

He buries it.  “I need Sam.”  He doesn’t deserve Cas’s help.  He already got it once _(“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition”)_ , and what did he do with it?

_(You turned yourself into a monster anyway.)_

Besides, Cas doesn’t really want to help him. Cas doesn’t want anything to do with him _(why would he)_. He’s made that abundantly clear in the past nineteen days.  Since that second day, when the cure didn’t work, he hasn’t spent more than a few hours in the bunker at a time, sometimes not even coming back to sleep. He’s always working with the angels to fix Metatron’s mess or searching for a way to restore his Grace. He’s researching Dean, too, Dean knows that _(cause_ he’s _what requires research now; he’s what needs to be ganked)_ but only from listening to him and Sam talk in hushed tones when they think Dean isn’t paying attention.  Cas doesn’t talk to _him_.  Cas is never even in the same room with him unless Sam is there, too.

“Where is Sam?”

He grits his teeth.  His head is starting to throb in time with his arm. “At the store.”

Cas hesitates.  “What do you need Sam to do?  Perhaps I could assist instead?”

An unpleasant laugh bubbles up, simmering right below the surface.  _If you have to ask, you’re really not qualified._ “I need Sam.”

“What do you need Sam to do?” Cas repeats, in the most patient, galling way ever.

He can’t say “calm me down,” he’s not a fucking _toddler_ \- this is why he needs Sam, because Sam doesn’t ask stupid questions-

“It’s none of your business!”

If Dean didn’t already know he was a monster, the way Cas’s face falls would be a pretty damn good clue.

Fuck it, he needs to just go.  Killing Dr. Sexy will have the added bonus of showing Cas _exactly_ why Dean isn’t worth trying to save anymore.  He’ll be doing Cas a fucking _favor_. He won’t have to avoid Dean anymore and pretend to care, he can just wash his hands of Dean once and for all-

No wait, he isn’t supposed to kill Dr. Sexy- that would defeat the whole fucking point- he just needs to _convince_ him, not kill him-

His right hand makes a fist, but the gun isn’t the Blade, he needs the Blade, he needs to kill, he _wants_ to kill-

_(No no no)_

“I’m sure I could help you if you just tell me-”

“ _No!_ ”

His roar makes a bird above take flight. Abruptly, Cas goes silent. His face is naked with shock, like he really thought a patronizing bedside manner would work, and that, more than anything, makes Dean snap.

“How are you supposed to help?  Can you fix this?”  He points the Glock at his own head, level with his eyes. “Can you?  Huh?  Cause last time I checked you couldn’t!  Not surprising- why should you be able to fix me when you can’t even fix your own fucking mess?”

Cas flinches.  But he doesn’t look angry, just sad.  Why isn’t he angry, why does he look disappointed, like he still expects _better_ -

“You don’t have to pretend!”  His voice cracks, and he hates Cas even more.

Cas’s brow knits.  “Pretend what?”

“Just leave me alone!  I’ll deal with it!”

_(Liar)_

“Deal with what?”

Dean has to gape before finding his voice. He waves the gun. “Are you _blind_?”

For the first time Cas looks impatient. “But _why_ did they change?  Why are you angry?”

“I’m always angry!”

“But why now specifically-”

“ _Because Dr. Sexy is leaving the show!_ ”

Cas blinks.  He opens his mouth, but now that he’s started, Dean doesn’t want to stop.

“His contract expired at the end of this season, and he won’t sign a new one!  He’s a fucking greedy asshole, so he’s fucking everything up for everyone else- his fans, his coworkers- the characters!  If Dr. Sexy leaves what’s going to happen to Dr. Absom?”

When he gesticulates, Cas wets his lips. “Who, uh, who is Dr. Abs-”

“His best friend!  But they’re more than best friends, they’re, they’re _brothers_.  And last season they fought the whole time, and next season is when they’re supposed to make it right, but that won’t happen if Dr. Sexy leaves!  He _can’t_ leave!  He’s supposed to be the hero!  Not the _bad guy_!”

“I’m sure they’ll reach an agreement,” says Cas, low and soothing.

“Damn straight they will!  I’m going to make him sign!”

“Dean, you can’t-”

“I can!  I have to!  I have to fix it, they have to be brothers again, that’s the only way to stop!”

“Stop what?”

“Being angry!  I’m so- I’m so _angry_ , Cas, and I don’t wanna be, but I can’t stop it, nothing can make me _stop_ \- _mphm_.”

But he has to stop talking because Cas’s mouth is on his.  Cas’s hands are on his cheeks.  Cas is pressing their lips together-

Cas is _kissing_ him.

It’s a long time before Cas stops kissing him. Or maybe it just feels like a long time.  Either way, Dean can’t remember what he was saying.

Cas is standing very close, closer than he was before they kissed _(kissed)_.  He’s looking at Dean expectantly, so naturally, Dean does not meet his gaze.  He ends up looking at Cas’s lips instead.  Not on purpose.  They’re just- _there_.

They’re swollen.

Dean feels a little dizzy.

“Dean?” says Cas.

Dean wakes up.  Shakes himself.  Tries not to sound squeaky.  “What the hell, dude?”

Surprisingly, Cas doesn’t look offended or confused. In fact, he smiles a bit. Almost smugly. “I was shutting you up. It was a shut up kiss.”

“It- you- _what_?”

“Not that what you had to say isn’t important,” Cas says hastily.  “I don’t mean to dismiss your feelings.  I just- I wanted to help you…calm down.  Which required shutting you up.”

“So you- you thought that _kissing_ me was the solution?”  He tries to sound appalled, but there’s a niggling thought in the back of his head that he’s probably done the same thing himself before. But, you know, with _women_.

“It’s a very common trope,” says Cas. “It’s frequently used in movies, TV shows, and literature in emotionally fraught situations when one character wants to make the other stop talking.  For example, in _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ both of Willow’s main love interests kiss her to calm her down: Oz kisses her when she is panicking before a battle, and Tara kisses her when she is grieving Joyce Summers’ death-”

“How do you _know_ that-”

He remembers the answer even before he’s finished speaking _(fucking Metatron)_ , but Cas still says patiently, “Metatron gave me his memories of all the fiction he had consumed.”

 _Which included Buffy?_ Dean wants to say, but he’s stuck on the fact that _this_ is how Cas decided to use that information. For the first time he becomes aware that his whole face feels hot. 

“I used Google to make sure I was not misinterpreting the patterns I had noticed in human fiction,” Cas continues. “It is a common trope. And…usually successful.”

“Yeah but…”  _Damn it-_ blushing is one of the indignities that should have ended when he died, along with having to take dumps and getting indigestion from too much pie.  “That’s always between a man and a woman. Not…not two guys.”

Cas regards him levelly.  “Two men can love each other the same way a man and woman do.”

“Y-yeah.  But we’re…we’re friends.”  But he can’t keep from sounding uncertain.  Are they still friends?  He hadn’t thought so from the way Cas was avoiding him.  And even if they are, friends don’t…

“We are friends,” says Cas, and relief that’s almost palpable in its intensity floods through Dean.  “But, Dean…”

His throat constricts _(but?)_. Now Cas doesn’t seem to want to look him in the eye.

He does, though, after a moment, with determination that feels achingly familiar.  “I do love you.”

Dean stares at him.  “I-”  But he can’t speak.  There’s too much confusion mixed with the relief.  And there’s a weird, jumpy feeling in his chest that shouldn’t be there, not without a heartbeat.  Why does Cas look so serious?  And what is Dean supposed to say?  Cas is family, of course Dean cares about him like that, but he doesn’t even say that kind of chick flick thing to _Sam_.

Cas does mean it like Dean means it…right?

“You know I feel the same,” he says, feebly.

Cas bites his lip.  Dean can’t help noticing how plump and red it still is. It’s so distracting, in fact, that he starts when Cas heaves a sigh. 

“No, Dean.  I don’t.”

“Cas, what are-” Dean has to stop to clear his throat. “What are you saying, man?”

Cas hesitates, like he’s trying to choose his words carefully.  “Before he was captured, while we were tricking him, Metatron said that everything I did to save the angels and restore Heaven was…was really to save you.”

When Cas pauses, Dean tries to sound nonchalant. “So he was messing with you. News flash, Cas, bad guys like to do that.”

“Yes,” Cas concedes.  “But in this case…”  He eyes Dean again with that same scarily serious expression.  “I do not think he underestimated the lengths I would go to to keep you safe.”

His breath catches.  It’s audible, and Cas rushes on like he’s afraid Dean will interrupt.

“Dean, when I heard you died, I-”  He blinks, falters, and finally shakes his head, like there just aren’t words.  “And when I found out that you were alive-”  Dean makes a noise of protest, but Cas speaks over him.  “I know you hate what you are now, and I suspect you won’t believe me any more than you do Sam, but Dean, you aren’t evil. You’re experiencing anger management issues, and they’re difficult, I understand, but I would rather you be as you are now than be _dead_.” He pauses.  “What I’m saying is, I care for you as more than a friend.”

It takes Dean a moment to realize that Cas has finished, but even then he doesn’t know what to say.  There was so much in there he could focus on, but the end- the last-

“Cas…”  What can he say that won’t hurt?  “I’m not gay.”

It’s a relief when Cas just looks at him calmly, unfazed.  “I’m not saying you are.”

“You’re not gay.”  Is he?  Could Dean have missed something that important all along?  No, because there was that psycho reaper chick that killed him after popping his cherry, and before that there was Meg-

“I’m not saying I am.”

“Then what _are_ you saying?”

“I’m saying my preferences are not dictated by gender or physical bodies.”

Dean opens his mouth, but nothing comes out; there isn’t really anything to say to that.

But there’s still the issue of when exactly _he_ became Cas’s preference.

“You didn’t use to feel this way about…” He can’t say _me_.  He can’t have misunderstood Cas’s feelings this whole time because maybe that thing with the reaper was just sexual, but Meg wasn’t. 

But Meg’s been dead for a while now…

It occurs to Dean that maybe his being a demon _isn’t_ the reason Cas has been avoiding him lately.  His chest does another flippy thing- before he died, did he mislead Cas in some way?

“No,” Cas agrees, and Dean feels a wave of relief that at least he hasn’t been completely oblivious.  “But people change.” 

He looks pointedly at Dean.  Dean considers pointing out that even he realizes how _not_ PC it is to compare homosexuality with turning into a demon, but even with Metatron’s info-dump he’s not sure Cas would understand what PC means, and that’s a tangent that could take a while to explain, and wow, he’s really rambling in his head now…

Which Cas can apparently tell, because he says gently, “I’m not telling you this because I’m asking you for anything, Dean. And I will always be your friend, no matter the extent of your feelings.  I initiated the kiss merely to comfort and quiet you. I am not trying to initiate anal sex with you-”

“ _Cas!_ ”

“Or any other kind of sexual contact.” His eyes seem to twinkle a bit, like he thinks it’s funny to make Dean squawk.

But Dean can live with that, even if he is back to blushing.  He takes a deep breath.  “All right.”

“Although…”  His eyes are _definitely_ twinkling now.  Have they always been so blue?  “If in the future you were open to experimenting, I would not be averse…”

He should say no.  Shut this whole thought process down right now before it can grow legs.

But the word won’t come.  Instead he hears himself say, “Dude, buy a guy dinner first or something.”

It’s a joke- it’s supposed to be a joke _(because he_ can’t _say no, there’s no way_ he’s _going to reject_ Cas _after everything Cas just said)_ \- but Cas smiles.  “I could do that.”

It’s such a simple, easy smile, small but bright, that despite himself, Dean can’t keep from smiling back.  It feels weird _(how long has it been?)_ but good.  Cas’s lips look back to normal.  Not that he’s paid close enough attention before to really be able to judge _normal_ but- well, they don’t look recently ravished.  Not that there was any _ravishing_ going on, but the point is, the point is they looked better a few minutes ago when they were all red and swollen-

“Did it work?”

Dean jumps.  “D-did what work?”  His face feels like it’s on fire.

But if Cas can tell what Dean was thinking, he doesn’t show it.  “Are you calm?” Casually he adds, “Your eyes are not black.”

“They aren’t?”  He’d forgotten all about that.  He checks in the bent spoon.  Elation swoops through him when all he sees is green. “When, uh, when did they…”

“They were green when I stopped kissing you.”

“Oh.  Well, that was probably just…”  But he stops himself before he can say “shock.”  Somehow, he suspects Cas wouldn’t like it.  And he doesn’t think _he_ would like what that would do to Cas’s face.

Dean clears his throat.  “So, uh, I guess it worked.  I’m, uh.  Calm.”  Not really. But now he’s _not-calm_ in a different, less murderous way.

“Good.”  Cas looks pleased.  “And you no longer wish to kill Dr. Sexy?”  He eyes the Glock still in Dean’s hand.

Dean coughs, turns the safety on, and hurriedly stows it in his jacket.  “Uh. No.”  Really, _really_ no.  He wouldn’t mind punching him a few times, but he’s pretty sure he’d want to do that with or without the Mark.  Which isn’t burning at all now.  He’d forgotten about that, too.

_Thank you, Cas…_

“Good,” Cas repeats.

He’s trying to figure out how to say thank you in a way that doesn’t encourage more _experimentation_ when Cas says lightly, “Would you prefer I not use that tactic again?”

This is it; this is how he says _thanks, but no thanks._   Cas is asking him straight out, it literally couldn’t be easier-

“Dean?”

Cas is looking at him, eyes wide and trusting _(trusting_ him _)_ and bluer than the sky.

“Well, you know what they say,” says Dean. “If it ain’t broke…”

A second passes without reaction, and he starts to worry _(did the info-dump not include that particular phrase?)_.  But then-

Cas smiles, more widely than Dean can ever remember seeing before.

And in that moment, Dean thinks his eyes couldn’t go black if they tried.

 

 _Fin_.


End file.
